


The Hunters, Hunted

by rei_c



Series: Stiles Stilinski: Vongola Sky [13]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Murder, Sky Stiles Stilinski, Vendettas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-06 19:34:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17945804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: A few days before he's due to go back to California, Stiles gets summoned to his uncle's office. Apparently, they have a visitor. Timoteo does not deal with their 'guest' the way Stiles expects.





	The Hunters, Hunted

The sun shines bright; the end of July in Italy is as hot as Stiles expected but humid as well, though the steady breeze and the smell of oranges and lemons wafting through the air leave him languid and as accepting of the weather as he'll ever be. Last night, after Verde left for the aeroport, it rained for six hours, cold and wet and damp. Stiles figured he probably didn't have anything to do with it, what with the weather forecasters having predicted the shower at the beginning of the week, but the downpour suited his mood. Verde hasn't been around much but their bond is still strong, anchored by an Arcobaleno and a Vongola, and having him so far away is putting Stiles out of sorts. 

Peter dragged Stiles outside to the training grounds a couple hours ago and told Stiles to let loose -- and Stiles did. Peter fought back; he's getting increasingly comfortable with Stiles' fighting technique and adapts quickly to any changes, but Stiles is Peter's sky and alpha and that far outweighs Peter's experience. It's been half an hour since they stopped, but Peter's still sprawled on the ground, letting Hebe pulse her sun flames through his body to aid his healing factor, groaning every once in a while when a bone or muscle slides back into place. 

Stiles had pretty much collapsed where he stood, but he's since crawled over to join Peter and Hebe, has Peter's head in his lap and is running his fingers through Peter's hair, sun-bleached and longer than when he arrived in Italy. He's half-focused on Hebe, half on his tense, quiet bond to Erica; he knows they'll have to talk before they head back to the States but he's willing to wait for her to decide when and where. 

Lost in thought, it takes Hebe saying, "Company," to get Stiles' attention back on the present. He looks up, glances over Hebe's body to see her tension, then over toward the house at the same time he sends a jolt of reassurance, protectiveness, and possessiveness down his bonds to both Hebe and Peter. 

Ganauche is striding across the grass, eying the smouldering and smoking remnants of the training grounds. He stops a fair distance away and tilts his head to the side as he takes in the way Stiles, Peter, and Hebe are sitting. With a nod of respect in Stiles' direction, Ganauche says, "Nono sent me. You're wanted in his office, Decimo, and he said you could bring your guardians along with you if you'd like. We have a visitor." 

Visitor -- after most of a summer in Italy, Stiles is getting used to the language used into the Vongola household, and 'visitor' means a neutral, someone who isn't an ally but also isn't, necessarily, approaching with hostility. There's a certain tension to Ganauche's flames, though, that has Stiles sliding out from under Peter to stand up, bringing his flames to hand as he moves. Hebe moves back from Peter, the two of them standing as well, and Peter does something with his flame that surrounds all three of them. Stiles can't see what it is -- Peter's illusions don't work on him, after all -- but Hebe looks pleased with the results and Ganauche nods in satisfaction, so Stiles assumes Peter's made them look more than halfway presentable and lets it go. 

\--

Stiles wonders who they're going off to meet. Ganauche didn't say and Stiles knows better than to ask for information when it isn't readily provided; his uncle likes keeping Stiles on his toes. Still, he runs through the list of possibilities: political connections, someone in law enforcement, an overture from another family, someone from the academy or Mafia Land, maybe someone who just hired on at CEDEF. 

The person waiting in Nono's office, when Stiles walks in, is not anyone he'd been considering. The woman stands alone, silver hair done up in a tight French braid, earrings glinting in the light, clothes fashionable yet tasteful and made for easy movement. The curve of her jaw is familiar, as is the gleam in her eyes, the arch of her cheekbones. Stiles doesn't see any weapons but, then again, between her family's fondness for hiding them and Coyote's diligence, if she does have weapons, he'd have to search deeper than surface level to find them. 

" _Matrone_ Argent," Stiles says, after a moment. "How unexpected." 

Peter, at Stiles' left, snarls. Hebe, on Stiles' right, stands there silently, though Stiles can feel the tension in her flames that speaks to hatred and uncertainty. He wonders if she sees pieces of herself in the Argent matriarch and then he wonders just how tightly the Argent and Cìnniri families are related. Maybe she's not here for him, maybe she's here for Hebe. Stiles' flame riots at the idea. 

The Ninth, in the middle of the tense silence, says, "You asked for the one who declared vendetta against your family, _matrone_. My heir and nephew, Mieczysław." 

Argent raises an eyebrow, scans Stiles' over from head to foot, then the two guardians at Stiles' side. Her lip curls when she sees Peter but her entire face tightens with disgust when she looks to Stiles' right and sees Hebe standing there. 

"I wasn't aware the Argents had done anything to upset the Vongola," Argent says. "But now I see _her_ at your side. Has the little bitch said something? Insulted my family in such a way that you felt wholescale murder was the best response?" 

"Your family is the reason I'm a Vongola," Stiles tells her. He relishes the brief look of surprise that crosses her expression and wishes she could feel the utterly _cold_ fury running through his flames at the insult to Hebe. "You see, the main American branch of your family kidnapped a couple friends of mine and I took exception to that. Took such great exception, in fact, that when they were going to kill me along with my friends, I decided I'd take the initiative and kill them first." 

Argent purses her lips. "You aren't a 'wolf." 

Stiles shakes his head. "I ran with a pack," he says. "Those two friends? Betas in my pack and no harm to anyone. And then, of course, after my sky ignited, I harmonised with 'wolves," he adds, gesturing at Peter. 

"Not to mention the runaway Cìnniri. How -- fortuitous that she found her way to you," Argent says. She pauses, considers what Stiles said and whatever her own knowledge of the situation is, then says, abruptly, "You punished the ones who hurt you and your packmates. Why come after the rest of us?" 

"We might not be allies," Timoteo says, "but our families have had an understanding back to the Sixth. That agreement was broken the instant one of yours attacked one of mine." 

Argent rolls her eyes, turns back to the Ninth like she's done with the children now. Stiles is content to watch, to wait, because there was a flicker in his uncle's flames, a certain tone of voice that Stiles has never heard from Timoteo. Hebe's not as attuned to the Ninth as Stiles is; she bristles at Argent's dismissal. Stiles reassures her through their bond but he also reaches over, curls his pinky around hers. 

"He wasn't one of yours when he was taken," Argent reminds the Ninth. "You wouldn't even care if he hadn't activated. For goodness' sake, you might have even thanked us for getting him out of the way." 

"Perhaps," Timoteo says. His agreement startles Argent, judging by the way her head moves and her posture changes. "But he _did_ activate and I _do_ care and vendetta is his right." 

Timoteo glances at him and Stiles -- he might still dislike his uncle and his uncle might still dislike him, but they've come to respect each other and this just proves it. Stiles inclines his head, lowers his eyes, and he can feel the way his uncle's approval washes over him, Timoteo's sky finally -- _finally_ \-- turned familial and protective. 

"Not," Stiles says, into the silence, "that I actually called vendetta." Argent turns to look at him and Stiles shrugs, says, "I hired the Varia. They're taking the extermination of your family like a challenge to see how ridiculous they can make each kill. Last I heard, one of your Argents in Pennsylvania was found dead in Amish country, choked to death on a piece of Dutch apple pie. Though there was that one in Oklahoma." Stiles clucks his tongue, shakes his head, says, "Suffocated on a pile of cow shit. How embarrassing for a member of the vaunted Argent family."

"Call them off," Argent hisses, face gone white with spots of colour blotching up her cheeks. "Call off your dogs." 

Stiles laughs, says, "The only dogs in this situation, _matrone_ , are yours. I hold with _'wolves_. We're a little more vicious and not so easily turned aside." 

Argent glares, turns back to Timoteo and says, "I never thought you'd let your name sink to this level, Timoteo Vongola." 

"I suppose we all find ourselves thinking things we never thought we would, these days," Timoteo says. He settles back in his chair, waves his hand, says, "I think we're done here." 

"I will see your family dead for this," Argent swears. 

Timoteo chuckles. "No," he says. "I don't believe you will." 

This time, when he waves his hand, a coruscating blaze of sky flame emerges from the movement and burns Argent down to ash. Stiles stares at his uncle, tries to decide what to do with that show of support, and finally walks towards the desk, then around it. He meets his uncle's eyes, then drops to one knee, bends over the hand that killed the Argent matriarch, and waits. 

"As I said," Timoteo murmurs, his other hand settling on the curve of Stiles' skull, "we all find ourselves thinking things we never thought we would. Your flight leaves in four days, I believe. Can I convince you to stay? You belong here, Mieczysław, with your family."

"I want to," Stiles admits. "But I said I'd go back and a Vongola's word --" 

"-- is their honour," Timoteo says, finishing Stiles' sentence. "Very well. But remember, nephew: this is your home, now. You never need an excuse to return." 

Stiles looks up, nods. "Thank you, uncle," he says -- and this time he actually means it.


End file.
